


Seeds Long Planted

by Cinnaberry



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Affection, Crystarium NPCs, Gen, Leadership, Multi, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Other, Patch 5.0: Shadowbringers Spoilers, Touch-Starved, Touchy-Feely, ambiguous WoL to make it easier on y'all, flashback scenes, kids making the exarch look like chuck norris, or the beginnings of it anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-12
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2020-10-16 22:54:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20610701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cinnaberry/pseuds/Cinnaberry
Summary: A collection of short stories about the Crystal Exarch and the people of the Crystarium, based on prompts from FFXIV Write 2019.





	1. Voracious (light WoL/Exarch)

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't find out about FFXIV Write 2019 until it had already been going for a week and had already started the 24-hour deadline, but I figure I can use the prompts to write things anyway, even if I don't end up submitting any of them at all. The writing and sharing it with y'all is the fun part for me!
> 
> I popped a M rating on this whole thing in general, just in case future prompts get a little... well, mature. YOU NEVER KNOW. But if it does happen, I will make sure to mark in the title of the chapter that things get explicit!

It began slowly, with incidental touches that could be easily passed off as nothing. A steadying hand here, a gentle and comforting clap on the shoulder there, all in the name of friendship and camaraderie and victory and all utterly, perfectly innocent. The Warrior thought naught of such things, but each and every time G'raha felt as if he was slowly suffocating under flames that grew only hotter and more insistent with each passing touch. It stoked something within him, something deeply primal, a simple, social urge he'd all but denied himself for the past century for the sake of keeping his identity hidden.

He'd gone so long without experiencing casual touch that he felt _ starved _ for it.

After that revelation, he found himself making excuses: brief brushes of fingers while passing missives, bracing a hand on his companion’s arm for support while he recovered from his injuries and weakness, even an occasional bit of spontaneous fussing over dusty shoulders or hair out of place. To his credit, he was incredibly subtle about it - or, at least, so he thought. The Warrior hadn't questioned any of it, and he'd been sure to slip it in while not in the presence of others, or at the very least when he thought that they wouldn’t pay attention to a particularly lingering touch. So long as he could satisfy his own itch in small, slight ways that didn't bother anyone else, he didn't feel too guilty indulging himself every now and then.

The day that he was to see the Warrior back to the Source made a fool of him, however, for his Warrior continued to surprise him in ways he never imagined. The second that the door to the Ocular closed behind the last Scion, G’raha found himself unable to turn towards the portal shimmering away in the walls of the tower as a pair of arms wrapped tightly around him, squeezing him as if intent on suffocating him by way of not letting his lungs refill with air. Brief as it was in intensity, it felt so _ incredibly _ good, so _ relieving _ to be held so firmly and in such a personally intimate way that the room over the Warrior’s shoulder was blurring long before any of it had fully registered in his mind. As his companion’s arms went lax around him, he felt certain that they would pull away and he’d have a moment to take a deep breath and compose himself, so he closed his eyes to preemptively begin the process.

Instead, the Warrior leaned in closer, enough to where their breath tickled the guard hairs of his ear, and murmured, “Wait right here for my return. The Twelve as my witness, I promise that I won’t leave you alone again, G’raha.”

Abruptly, G’raha felt as if he truly was suffocating, unable to breathe at all through the grip of emotion that threatened to constrict the life out of his chest. He sucked in a short, hiccuping breath, and the build-up of tears began to fall freely as his staff dropped from his hand and both lifted, first to grip tightly in the front of the Warrior’s armor and then sliding beneath their arms to instead grip at the back of it. The Exarch wasted no time in pressing himself as flush to his companion as possible, as if he could meld with the other to keep that promise alive, and buried his tears in the soft leather that met him. The Warrior responded in kind by reforming their earlier embrace, tight and firm and reassuring with a soft, fond chuckle that only made G’raha laugh in kind, thin and watery as it was. _ This_, he thought, though he still wasn’t entirely certain that he was deserving of it, _ is a gift truly worth living for. _

“I would like nothing more,” he replied, muffled but heartbreakingly sincere. “Nothing more in all the worlds.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on Twitter @ [lalafell_txt](http://www.twitter.com/lalafell_txt)!


	2. Bargain

“You know, my grandpa said that even when he was a kid, the Exarch looked the same as he does now.”

In a single sentence, the young Mystel girl that had spoken up immediately got the attention of her friends - though, from the variety of expressions, it was for several different reasons.

“No one can tell how old he really is, Hanji,” an Elven boy pointed out confidently, fingers pausing in the middle of unwrapping a small hard candy. “It isn’t like you can see under that hood of his.”

“Oh, come on, Vral,” a Mystel boy replied, ears perked and eyes sparkling. “Don’t tell me you’ve never heard the stories. I thought _ everyone _ knew about how old he is.”

“I’ve heard the stories, Shai,” Vral shot back, frowning as he stuffed the candy into his mouth and promptly moved it into the hollow of his cheek so that he could keep talking. “I just don’t believe them. It’s not possible for anyone to live that long and not change. He doesn’t even _ look _ old. He can’t be much older than our parents.”

“Then how has he been the leader of the Crystarium for so long?” a white-scaled Drahn girl pointed out quietly but confidently. Her own fingers were occupied untwisting and retwisting the wax paper around a small caramel. “My grandmother remembers picking up her first helper journal from him, and even she says that he’s never changed, not even in personality.”

“I bet he used some kind of magic to make himself live forever!” Shai interjected, grinning widely at the other three children. “Like Philline said, our parents and our parents’ parents and even _ their _ parents helped people out for rewards of candy. Everyone in the Crystarium's done it! If they all say he’s still the same, then he’s gotta have done _ something_.”

Vral just scoffed, pocketing the wrapper of his candy to be disposed of later. “It’s a simple answer. He’s just naturally young. My grandfather’s father was the same way up until the end. You couldn’t tell he was old unless you looked at his face.”

“I heard he used to defend the Crystarium all by himself with just a bow and arrow,” Hanji piped up, entirely non sequitur. Philline and Vral looked somewhat confused, but in the spirit of excitement, Shai was happy to continue on this new train of thought.

“I bet the Exarch can do _ anything_. I bet he could make it rain chocolate from the sky, or turn nasty vegetables into pudding! I bet he could even bring the night sky back!”

“If he could do that, he’d have done it already,” Philline said with a purse of her lips.

“But he _ could_,” Shai argued, lips curving into a pout. “He just has to find a way to do it.”

“He’d have to take out all the sin eaters in Norvrandt! And find the Warrior of Darkness!” Hanji added helpfully, earning an eager nod from Shai.

“And that’s why he hasn’t done it yet,” Vral sighed. “Because the Warrior of Darkness is a fairy tale. You know it's just a bedtime story that our parents tell us”

“That’s not true!” the other three children chimed in unison, though Hanji and Shai sounded significantly more offended than Philline had.

“You’re getting too old for this kind of stuff, Vral,” Shai said, with a quick rap of his knuckles against his friend’s upper arm. “Just for that, you owe me tomorrow’s reward for turning in your helper journal.”

“What? No way!” Vral recoiled, clutching his journal tight in his hand as if Shai was about to take the entire thing from him. “I worked really hard running errands for my father's shop so I could get this! Besides, the Exarch only gives us these rewards until we turn thirteen summers, and this is my last year for it! I’m not giving any of it up to your candy hoard!”

“Then how about we make a bet?” Hanji offered. “No matter how long it takes, even if we’re old and crusty, if the Warrior of Darkness really does appear… Vral owes us all an entire bar of chocolate each!”

Philline seemed mutedly in agreement, but Shai’s eyes positively lit up in challenge and the prospect of further bolstering his candy hoard. Vral, on the other hand, grinned confidently and flopped out on his back in the grass, reveling in his already self-assured victory. “That’s a bet I’ll gladly take.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on Twitter @ [lalafell_txt](http://www.twitter.com/lalafell_txt)!


	3. Lost

The surrounding area looked nothing like Mor Dhona.

Or, rather, it looked nothing like the Mor Dhona that G’raha had awakened to. The resemblance to the Mor Dhona he’d experienced prior to sealing himself inside the Tower for unknown years of slumber, however, was uncanny - save that the Mor Dhona of his memories didn’t have such amaranthine flora, and this place was not strewn with juts of crystal or blanketed by a thick miasma. If not for the sickening pallor of the sky above, he might have mistaken his journey across the rift to have simply been a journey back in time, prior to the settlement of Mor Dhona at all.

But there was no mistaking it. This was the First. Their plan had succeeded. The overwhelming presence of Light told him that much.

G’raha sank to his knees at the top of the stairs leading up to the Tower, a soft but disbelieving laugh bubbling up in his throat. It had worked. It had _ worked _. Years of planning and researching and ‘what-if’s and ‘maybe’s had all come down to this, and he’d survived. He’d survived, and he was the only hope that the Source had now.

… but what was he to _ do _ , exactly, now that he’d found himself where he needed to be? He knew the ultimate course of action, but now that he was faced with the reality of actually _ doing _ any of it, he felt his hands shaking. It was a lot of responsibility, being the only one capable of shouldering the fate of not one, but _ two _ worlds. What was he to do _ right this moment _, when no time could be wasted?

G’raha’s mind spun like the cogs of the machines the Ironworks loved so dearly. Of course, there were already visible differences between the First and the Source. There was a good chance that the Spoken races could be different as well, which meant that he should at least hide his appearance until he was able to find a settlement and confirm his suspicions. The robe he’d been given prior to his journey was plain enough to not stand out, had a hood, and had been made for a Hyur man and thus ended up being a bit large on his slighter frame, but that meant that it was more than long enough to keep his tail hidden from sight. So long as he kept his ears flat to his head, it should obscure plenty enough about him to make him look as ambiguous as possible. Pushing himself to his feet, he tugged the hood up and over his head, letting it fall far enough down to cover his eyes and markings in the process.

Finding a settlement in this place would hopefully take less effort than he suspected, but an errant worry niggled at the back of his mind nonetheless. He had no control over where the Tower had appeared, of course, but there was a sickened pit digging itself into his stomach at the thought that the Tower may have appeared _ on top _ of a settlement. With the destruction that had likely already happened, he couldn’t bear the thought of unintentionally destroying an entire town full of innocent people. There were no signs of civilization around the base of the Tower, but the Tower was also horribly large and obscured much of the land around it.

Ears already laying flat, G’raha dipped his head low, letting his eyes slip closed in a silent prayer to those of this world that had already lost their lives. Whether or not they were any fault of his own, they deserved the same consideration as the many lives lost to the Eighth Umbral Calamity back on the Source.

But not a moment later, his ears perked against the fabric of the hood, red eyes flying open as several sets of frantic footsteps carried through the lavender trees surrounding the Tower. “Succor, succor!” a woman’s voice cried out, and within moments a small group of people - Au Ra and Elezen and Hyur, all strikingly like people he might have seen on the Source - came bursting through the foliage, chased closely behind by what looked almost to be a white voidsent. G’raha acted without thinking - his bow was brought from his back in a handful of seconds, an arrow nocked and flying true in fewer. It struck the creature solidly in the eye; another two arrows followed, one striking the throat and the other embedding in the torso, and in mere moments the threat was dispatched.

Silence hung heavy in the air for a good half a minute as both the people and G’raha struggled to comprehend what had just happened. G’raha, at least on his end, was more unsettled by what he had seen, fingers trembling against the familiar wood of his trusty - and, at this point, centuries-old - bow. Voidsent had been confirmed to have originated from the Thirteenth, and if that shard had suffered a flood of Darkness, then it was safe to assume that these creatures were of the same make but opposite in aspect. But in order to create something, they had to _ come _ from something--

His thoughts were abruptly interrupted by the _ loud _ ringing of cheers from the group of refugees, sending him staggering back a step in surprise, his tail lashing beneath its cover of cloth.

“Ye’re a right godsend, ye are!” one Elezen woman cried out.

“We thought we were done for!” another woman - an Au Ra - sobbed, her husband rubbing her shoulder in consolation. “They got the others, and we ran, _ gods _ we ran, but then this giant crystal appeared from nowhere--”

Beneath the shadow of his hood, G’raha’s eyes widened. Perhaps there hadn’t been a settlement here, after all. But then, if these people were fleeing… “You’ve come from nearby?”

“We’ve come from Voeburt,” the woman’s husband answered, voice solemn and ragged. “At least, most of us. After the sky changed, these creatures started appearing, attacking villages and turning everyone into more of them. We decided to flee here to Lakeland, but it’s only been more of the same, and since we’ve left Voeburt we’ve lost half of our group. There’s just no end, they just keep _ multiplying _ with every kill.”

“A right blessing that this appeared when it did,” a Hyur woman murmured, her head dipped low in grief. “Out of thin air, as it was. Like some kind of beacon.”

G’raha gritted his teeth, closing his eyes and letting his hand squeeze tightly around the grip of his bow. That white creature had been a person. A _ person _. If only he’d known… But he couldn’t simply let these people roam homeless, leaving them to a fate worse than death. Plenty had already succumbed to the creatures. If Lakeland was as compromised as Voeburt, there would be more seeking solace and protection against the onslaught. 

Things could still go as planned from here. There was no threat of diverting from it in trying to protect the people of this land. These people had already seen the Tower as a beacon of safety, so he would _ make _it a beacon of safety - to preserve the memory of those that had been lost, and for the future of those he could yet save.

Masked though most of his face was, G'raha regarded the group of refugees with a warm, welcoming smile and a sweep of his unoccupied hand. "Then, you are welcome to seek sanctuary here. I have summoned this tower myself, and I shall gladly ensure your protection. Together, we _will_ survive."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on Twitter @ [lalafell_txt](http://www.twitter.com/lalafell_txt)!


	4. Shifting Blame

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for taking so long to add a new chapter! Real life exploded on me this past month, but now that things are settling down a bit I'll hopefully be able to write on a more regular basis again. Thank you all so much for your patience, and I hope you continue to enjoy! c:

“Are you alright, my lord?”

The soft, concerned interruption shook the Exarch from the daze he’d unconsciously fallen into, eyes abruptly forced from their unfocused lock on a tree halfway across the Exedra to instead focus on the face of the older Elven woman that was now standing beside him. Beneath the weight of his cowl, his ears twitched - luckily, the movement was too slight and the fabric too heavy for it to be too obvious - and he quickly schooled his expression into a warm smile.

“Ah, Frilda. My apologies, I was a thousand malms away,” he admitted, though the warmth in his smile briefly ebbed into something more sheepish. “Did you need something?”

Frilda shook her head, her own concern having already melted into something far warmer. “Merely making sure that you’re feeling well. You’ve been standing here for a while just staring into nothing, you know, and while we’re content to leave you with your secrets, it’s my responsibility as the head of the Spagyrics to make sure you’re not falling ill on us.”

For a brief moment, the Exarch’s expression faltered, and at the edges of the shadow that hid his eyes, his cheeks turned the faintest dusting of pink. Had he truly been lost in his thoughts for that long? “N-no, I’m quite alright, I assure you,” he fumbled, lifting his crystalline hand in a placating gesture. “Merely thinking, that’s all. I’ve quite a bit on my mind these days, as I’m sure you understand.”

“Aye, ensuring we’re defended from the Sin Eaters and aught else, certainly,” Frilda agreed, but the touch of matronly concern bleeding into her voice made the Exarch a hint nervous. “Though, if you’ve my opinion on the matter, you look a bit peaked. Are you sure you’ve been getting enough rest?”

The silence that followed was damning in its own right, but the way that the Exarch ducked his head down in guilt only served to punctuate it. Since joining with the Tower, he’d not had an actual need for rest. The Tower was a power source in and of itself, and he’d found that he could go not just days, but  _ weeks _ without sleeping. It had been a boon for his constant research, certainly, but he’d not taken into account that it might still show physically that he’d been overworking himself.

“I’ve plenty enough energy to keep going,” he attempted, peeking up through the shadows of his hood with a smile more befitting a child caught with his hand in the biscuits. Frilda recognized it immediately, and her own smile turned into something more appropriately chastising.

“You sound just like my daughter, you know,” she sighed, folding her arms over her chest. “Not four weeks out from the birth of her first child and she’s begging to help with tinctures and salves when I know full well she’s not had the sleep to hardly keep  _ herself  _ on her own two feet. More mistakes are made when you’re exhausted, and just as I’ll not have her improperly mixing medicines, I’ll not have you stumbling on your feet when we might be in desperate need of your protection. Is that clear?”

The Exarch pulled in a breath, but he was wise enough to not argue against the suggestion of a healer. A moment later the breath was expelled in a heavy sigh, his shoulders sagging along with it in a physical display of defeat. “Of course. My apologies for drawing your concern when you doubtless have more important things to attend to. Rest assured that I will take more time to relax.”

“That’s more like it,” Frilda approved with a nod and a smile. But, to the Exarch’s dismay, she wasn’t about to completely let him go - instead, she gently took him by the elbow, turning him towards the entryway to the Spagyrics and urging him to follow along with her. “In the meantime, however, we  _ must _ do something about that deathly pallor of yours. I’ve a tonic that I’ve been working on, something to balance the humors and put a bit of bounce back in your step. I’d originally concocted it for Enneth, since poor little Chessamile only lets her get a bell or two of sleep at a time, but I’m sure it will work wonders for you as well.”

“A-ah, of course,” the Exarch stammered, unwilling to fight back against someone so insistent and following along without complaint. He’d never particularly liked the taste of medicines, and he doubted that this tonic would taste any better, but he knew that Frilda only meant well. She wouldn’t be doing this if she didn’t genuinely care about his wellbeing.

Rest didn't necessarily have to mean sleep, of course, but perhaps some rest  _ would  _ do him good - if not for his own sake, then for the sake of the Crystarium’s people. He’d worked for many years to protect and foster a self-reliant community of people struggling to survive in a dying world. If taking care of himself was all that they asked for in return, then it would be unfair of him not to oblige.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on Twitter @ [lalafell_txt](http://www.twitter.com/lalafell_txt)!


End file.
